


Old and Wise

by Zarla



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Depressing, M/M, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-23
Updated: 2006-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 04:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otacon thinks about what time has done to the both of them, and what it will soon take away. Set somewhere probably days before MGS4 takes/will take place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old and Wise

They were both getting too old for this.

They'd been fighting for longer than Otacon thought any sane human beings should, engaged in a war that shouldn't have happened, that could have been prevented. There was no benefit in dwelling over what had brought him to this point, he _knew_ that but he just felt so tired lately, and he knew why. Reading through endless lines of text, investigating link after dead-end link, coding and programming and erasing their tracks. Interacting with the rest of Philanthropy, organizing meetings and strikes and protests and public ultimatums. He didn't find people unpleasant, but sometimes it was work to deal with them, just like it was work to find the next tiny key that would get them closer to having all this end for once and sometimes it was work to get out of bed.

Mission after mission, small and large, information true and false and he was tired. He wouldn't stop fighting, not until it was over, but still he felt tired. He was losing weight gradually, slowly but he was losing it because sometimes he forgot to eat and his eyes and wrists ached and he felt thin, worn out. He felt older than he was and when he found a gray hair, caused by stress Snake had assured him, he'd dyed his hair black to try and forget it happened. Temporary. Everything was temporary.

As for Snake, time was taking its toll on him clearly enough. The advanced degeneration came as an unpleasant shock to say the least, but it was one that he tried to adapt to. Otacon also tried to keep the thought of Snake dying years before he did out of his mind with mixed success and when he failed, Otacon sometimes wished that time could stop, that everything would stop and nothing would end.

No...nothing was too broad. He wished that Snake wouldn't end. They both knew he would.

Snake was gradually becoming tired, sleeping later and slow to wake although he still kept at his exercising, determined not to let himself get out of shape. He kept going on the missions that Philanthropy assigned him, even eventually angrily confronted Otacon about the suspiciously growing amount of simple, easy objectives. He wasn't that old yet and he didn't need to be mollycoddled like some senile old man. Otacon let Snake take the more strenuous missions afterwards, although he never stopped worrying. He tried to keep that to himself.

Snake did stay true to his namesake, his body still solid with muscle although his skin became loose, folds and wrinkles appearing where skin was smooth before. The lines in his face became deeper, his hair thinner and softer and his eyes had bags beneath them even when he got enough sleep. There was the mustache of course, grown when Snake's hair had begun to turn gray, which had taken some time to get used to. Otacon asked him once why he'd grown it and Snake had simply said, "I don't want to look like him."

That was answer enough, and Otacon let the matter drop.

Snake's hands were still relatively steady, except after one of his coughing fits or sometimes when he tried to keep his touch gentle. His voice suffered though, becoming deeper and harsher although that was probably partly a side-effect from the coughing fits, the spasms that lasted minutes that went on too long. Otacon almost called the hospital the first time before Snake stopped him, explained when he had his breath back that they still couldn't afford to be traced, no matter what happened.

Something normally gradual sped up, changes happening too fast but Snake wasn't average to begin with and given the situation, he adapted to it as well as anyone could. Eyesight dimming, hearing fading, the constant drain on his energy and still Snake stayed stubbornly resolute in his routines and his missions, his purpose and he still hung stubbornly on to his life, however much was left to him at this point.

Snake didn't have the energy, and sometimes the ability, for sex anymore, and frankly Otacon himself didn't feel up for it either, although for different reasons. The spark between them was gone, sexual contact no longer as intriguing or intoxicating as it used to be for either of them and their actions and reactions to each other reflected the loss. The sensuality, the potential invitation gone from the accidental brush of fingertips, the proximity of leaning over the other's shoulder. Neither said anything about their mutual lack of interest. Their familiarity, social and emotional, allowed the physical to fade without much complaint. There were those small things though, things that both could do when desire returned. The occasional kiss, touching, mutual masturbation when Snake could manage it.

Some things changed, some things didn't. Once, what seemed like ages ago, Otacon found comfort in lying spent beside Snake in bed. Now he felt the same kind of safety in their daily arguments, the bickering that arose over nothing and meant nothing. He still knew him, they still knew each other. They knew each other enough that being together wasn't work, and that kind of relationship only became more valuable over time.

At night Snake tossed and turned, warfare having burned permanent scars across his dreamscape, but sometimes he was still. It was these times, when he seemed peaceful and at rest, that Otacon held on to him and rested his head against his chest. He did this because he enjoyed being close to him and for a few other fairly simple reasons, but a new one that had arisen as time had gone by was to hear Snake's heart.

He'd listen to the soft thump against his ear, stare at the few sparse touches of gray chest hair, and think. Mostly about the passage of time, how it moved so differently during day and night. Moments like these when Snake wasn't dreaming would never last long enough, and the day dragged on for ages.

For Snake, his time was rapidly running out, and for Otacon his life could go on for years.

They dedicated themselves to their cause, to fixing their mistakes together but the reality had come to Otacon that there was a good chance that soon their partnership would end. They worked together for so long, known each other for what felt like a lifetime and any day, any week, any minute Snake's heart could give out before it was all over. Otacon would survive, that was what he did, but he did not like to think of the future in that way.

But even if they did accomplish it, destroy Metal Gear forever and finally ensure the future for future generations, how long would Snake have? They could accomplish their goal, and still Snake would have precious little time to appreciate it before he died of old age of all things, decades before the possibility would even occur to Otacon.

They would inevitably be separated, Otacon knew that. Snake's condition was irreversible, they both knew that. Otacon wasn't sure if Snake had made peace with it, but he didn't talk about it.

Otacon wasn't sure if he himself had made peace with it. He'd like to tell himself that he had, that he accepted fate and would let Snake die with dignity and grace when he had to, but some part of him didn't want to let him go. He didn't want this to end, even though he was exhausted and stretched so thin.

He'd curse the genes that were so quickly sapping away Snake's life, but it was those genes that had enabled him to build the skills that had gotten him this far. Genetically modified to be the perfect soldier, and true enough, Snake had survived each war he'd gone through, although not without his share of scars as Otacon had found out. In a way that was all his genes had ever intended him to do, and now they were shutting down, having assumed that he'd accomplished all that had been required.

He was personifying too much. Genes were genes. Snake was who he was, and that was more than his genetic code. He'd told Otacon that at times he'd felt destined to fight, that that was all he was ever intended to do and, like Fox, the only thing he had ever been good at. It was through his relationships to other people, to Fox, to Meryl, to Otacon, to Campbell, to Philanthropy and even just the concept of the future generation, that proved that he was more than a senseless killing machine. Snake was a person, not a weapon, not an automaton programmed to kill and self-destruct.

He had a life outside of battle...but it made no difference. It would end soon, too soon, and Otacon would be alone again.

He held on to Snake, like that would change anything, and listened to his heart. Even now, as they lay together, Snake's heart could simply stop with no warning. There was no guarantee of how much time Snake had left, how much time they had left.

Snake mumbled in his sleep, twitched a bit but Otacon's weight kept him from turning over. He was dreaming again, and that meant that Otacon'd have to move or else he'd wake him up.

They had so little time left, working for something that never seemed to pass, days spent on a cause that, while not hopeless, seemed far out of reach. Or at least, out of reach for Snake's lifespan.

Otacon sometimes tried to imagine what it would be like when Snake died. How would he react? What would he do? How would his life change? What would he do with Snake's things? How would Philanthropy be changed?

He knew enough to know that thinking about it wouldn't prepare him for when it happened. He wanted to know, for sure, that he'd be able to carry on their purpose and future when Snake died, that he'd be able to shoulder the loss and carry on bravely and continue to work in Philanthropy alone.

And still, some part of him cast doubt because all it ever said, an unending mantra, was a simple "please don't die, Snake" and that was enough.

He had an idea of what he would do without him. He could imagine a life without him. He could do it, he was sure. He survived...that's what he did. He could live a life without Snake, survive without his support, plan the future without him.

It just wasn't something that he wanted to do. All he wanted was to be able to lie here and hold Snake and not have to think, to worry that the next second might be the last that they'd have. The worrying never stopped.

Snake mumbled again, and Otacon felt a hand touch his back. He lifted his head and found Snake's eyes staring into his own, half-closed and weary.

"What're you doing?"

Otacon considered moving, considered coming up with something, then just said the first thing that came to mind.

"Holding you."

Snake blinked at him slowly, trying to process this while half-asleep.

"Huh." At best, mild surprise. Snake closed his eyes and let his head rest back on the pillow.

"Holding on to you, really..." Otacon mumbled, "if you want to get technical about it."

"Mmhmm." Distracted and halfhearted. Snake wasn't listening, probably already falling asleep again. Otacon wondered vaguely if he'd remember this at all.

He tightened his grip on him for a moment, his eyes shut tight as he tried to force the thought of Snake's funeral out of his mind, the eulogy that he would give that he'd tried to write in his head and all that came were the words "this isn't _fair_," and he felt Snake's hand squeeze his shoulder lightly in response. It didn't take long for his hand to fall back on the bed, and Snake was asleep again.

There was so little time left.

Snake's heart still beat, and he hung on.


End file.
